


Awake in the Margin

by Lyrae_Immortalis



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Overtired Ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 02:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12546688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae_Immortalis/pseuds/Lyrae_Immortalis
Summary: “Ed—” a hand settles on Ed’s shoulder, one abruptly shrugged off, “—I think it’s high time you take a break and have a nap. You can come back to this later.”“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all week. A nap. No…I will not be doing that.” Ed folds his arms over his chest, hands balled into fists. The last thing he needs is Oswald coddling him.





	Awake in the Margin

**Author's Note:**

> I hope no one is expecting my current output to speak for my future stuff because...nope :P 
> 
> Happy reading! <3

“Wrong, wrong, _wrong_. It’s all wrong. Arggh!” Ed slaps his hands down on the desk and with a push to the right, he sweeps it clean, sending the papers, pens, and other general office supplies flying through the air. “Useless, stupid…no help at all,” he grouses nonsensically to himself. 

Several hours have passed since Ed began piecing together the skeleton of his latest scheme, and although he dislikes to admit it—he’s struggling. This shouldn’t be so… _arduous_. He has his intelligence, his guile, the perfect cocktail of all that he is; he should be able to solve any problem…so where are his answers? Why do they avoid him?

A migraine splits his focus for a brief second, stabbing behind his eyes. Accidentally knocking the lamp off his desk, Ed nabs the bottle of painkillers and dry-swallows the chalky tablets, half aware he’s ingesting _way more_ than the recommended daily dose, before perusing the documents, schematics, and photographs adorning every wall. He taps a finger on his chin, striking the same spot, six, seven, _eight_ times, and considers a new angle.

“If deliveries happen on Thursdays, and Matheson isn’t working until Saturday, then…no _, no, no!_ ” Ed rips off his loose tie and discards it at his feet. He kicks at the offending piece of fabric, only to miss, so he resorts to stomping on it instead: a vector for his frustrations. Why won’t people be where he needs them to be? Free will is but a thorn in his side. This is _his_ game and they are _ruining_ it!

“Okay, so if I push it back two weeks, then— _idiot_ , then it would coincide with— _oh,_ you are _all_ aggravating me,” he hisses at the portraits mocking him, with their placid faces, and judgemental eyes. They—their _physical_ counterparts—can burn for all he cares, certainly Firefly has need of fresh kindling, or perhaps Ivy requires new fertilizer. They’d do perfectly…once they've served their purpose, of course—Ed’s purpose.

“You think you can best me? Think someone as mediocre as you—all… _six_ of you—could best _me_ —The Riddler?” Ed chuckles, the sound coiling in the back of his throat, barely audible. “You all _live_ for the day you find your purpose. Well, here it is, I’m dangling it on a hook before you, and you won’t bite. You can’t reject destiny forever, sooner or later it’ll catch up to you, and I’ll be there to capitalize on your mistakes, on your foolishness! It’ll be—” 

“Ed?” 

Startled, Ed snaps his head over his shoulder, hand plastered over his heart. It beats erratically beneath his fingers as he registers the look of apprehension on Oswald’s face, before blatantly ignoring him as he continues to ruminate over his conundrum. Ed's thoughts batter his temples, ricocheting and tumbling, and within moments they eventually worm their way out of his mouth again, beginning as a low grumble, quickly escalating to something much louder.

“Ed—” a hand settles on Ed’s shoulder, one abruptly shrugged off, “—I think it’s high time you take a break and have a nap. You can come back to this later.” 

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all week. A _nap._ No…I will _not_ be doing that.” Ed folds his arms over his chest, hands balled into fists. The last thing he needs is Oswald coddling him. Planning, plotting, it all takes time. Ed wants— _needs to_ —foil the GCPD and the Bat, which means he has to remain here, eyes glued to the wall, searching for connections only _he_ can perceive.

“How long have you been standing here, yelling at inanimate objects?” Oswald says. Ed side-eyes him as he speaks. His voice is too soft, too calculated. _What is he playing at?_ “You haven’t showered or eaten, and I doubt you’ve had a _wink_ of sleep.”

“Yes, well, thank you for your concern, but I am not as… _restricted_ as most of the general populous. Sleep will only be a hindrance. I’m fine. Leave me to work in peace.”

“Peace?” Oswald blinks in surprise, slow and mechanical, and gestures wildly around himself. “This isn’t even organised chaos. Your files _everywhere_ , stained heavily with coffee. The pages in your books are bent, something I _know_ you will complain about later, and your screeching is frightening my birds. This isn’t peace, Edward.”

Ed grumbles and sets to gathering his scattered papers, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. _There are answers to be found in here somewhere,_ he says to himself, dumping an armful of manila folders onto his desk, _but first I need a new wall…and fewer interruptions._

“Well, forgive me if I ruffle some feathers, Oswald. If you didn’t barge in on me every few hours, then _perhaps_ I might have made more progress.”

“Edward…I haven’t spoken with you for _three days_.”

Ed halts, mouth agape. “No, that’s not possible. I—you called in this morning, handed me… _something_ , I don’t know. I can’t recall—but you _did._ ” 

“No, Ed, I didn’t. Now, can you _please_ go upstairs and lie down? You’re destroying yourself over this, and it’s not worth it. I have half a mind to—” 

Ed scoffs and rolls his eyes. _That’s generous_ , he thinks. He isn’t aware the words transversed the bridge between his brain and mouth until his unintentional remark earns him a whack on the arm with Oswald’s cane. 

“Hey! _Ouch!_ What was—will you—Oswald, s-stop. Stop! Okay… _okay,_ ” he concedes, throwing his arms over his head.“If it puts an end to this unwarranted beating, then I’ll take a break—a _small_ one—but I only have, by your calculations, _two days_ to put the last pieces into play. I cannot—” 

“Bed!” Oswald orders, stone-faced. It’s impossible to argue with him like this, so Ed doesn’t try. His eyes narrow to slits, lids twitching, before he huffs and slogs his way up the staircase to their bedroom.

“Treat me like some unruly child…” he murmurs, hopping on one foot, then the other, removing his socks and shoes. “What, do you want to get me some warm milk, too, before reading me a story? I—” 

“You’re such a brat when you’re tired.”

Oswald’s voice worms its way into Ed’s ear, and as Ed spins around, he comes face-to-face with the smirking tyrant. “How do you—why must you continually sneak up on me? You’re going to send me to an early grave.” 

There’s no retort or reply—not a verbal one. Instead, Oswald rises to the tips of his toes and captures Ed’s lips in a tender kiss, ghosting his mouth across Ed’s own. Seconds pass and the tension in Ed’s frame fades. He loses his rigidness under the gentle assault, attention thoroughly redirected. 

“Would you _like_ me to read to you?” Oswald says into Ed’s mouth, kissing him again as he removes Ed’s clothing, with warm hands soon caressing bare skin. Ed shudders.

“No…yes. If you have something better to do—”

“Nonsense,” Oswald exclaims, tone lit with humour. “I’d love to read to you. Go lie down, and we can begin shortly.”

Ed thanks Oswald with a small smile and eagerly clamours his way under the covers. He fiddles with the sheet as he hyper-focuses on the way Oswald disrobes, tracking the movement of his hands, and lifts it when Oswald makes moves to join him. Only now becoming aware of their three-day separation, nonconcordant with his earlier conceptions, Ed shifts in closer. He presses his body against Oswald’s, hooks leg over thigh, and lavishes the skin of Oswald’s shoulder, clavicle, and neck, with opened-mouth kisses. 

“ _Ed_ ,” Oswald half-heartedly chides, carding his fingers through the unruly strands of Ed’s hair, “I don’t think—” he tries to say, but Ed takes possession of his mouth and steals away any dissuading comment. He groans, low and rumbling, as Oswald tugs him forward, fingers dancing, carrying out the steps of a performance Ed is rushing his way through. Ed grips Oswald’s shoulders and rocks against him, desperate to get this show on the road, wanting to feel Oswald’s hands clutching every inch of him, and when he is flipped onto his back, Ed believes his wish is about to come true, but there is no weight settled on top of him. 

“Wha— _Oswald,_ ” he whines, jutting his bottom lip out as he pouts. 

“Shh,” Oswald says breathlessly, placing his fingertips on Ed’s lips, silencing any future remark. “When you wake, we can continue.” Teeth replace fingers and Oswald nips at Ed’s bottom lip once, _twice_ , then falls back against the plush pillows, wiping a hand down his flushed face.

“You’re a tease, Mr. Cobblepot,” Ed says, playfully, breathing heavily, willing his body to calm. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Oswald chuckles and reaches out a hand to rake his fingers through Ed’s hair, scratching his scalp lightly, as they take a moment to lie quietly together. Ed hums in content; moments such as these are a treasure, the most precious of commodities, something _no scheme_ could garner him. Oswald is…he’s everything important in Ed’s life.

Smiling to himself, Ed removes his glasses, swaps them out for the book on his nightstand, and Ed cuddles in close. He settles his ear centre chest, and wraps an arm around Oswald, riding the waves of his breath. The slow drag of every inhale and exhale, the rhythmic thumping of Oswald’s heart, the fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns between Ed’s shoulder blades, work simultaneously to lull Ed into a deep state of serenity, juxtaposing his earlier mood. 

“I _love_ you,” Ed says again, more reverently, voice tinged heavily with unrestrained emotion.

“And I love _you_ ,” Oswald says into the crown of Ed’s head, dropping another kiss, lips lingering. “Would you like me to read to you now?” 

Before he can answer, Ed is cut off by a prolonged yawn. Oswald’s chest rattles as he laughs, jostling Ed, and an arm tightens around him, holding him close. “Shall I take that as a yes?” Oswald quips.

“Mhm, please.”

“Where is it you left off?” Oswald asks, thumbing his way through the book, never one to waffle about. Page after page is turned, with silent questions hanging between the folds.

Ed knows what the issue is…there’s no bookmark to be found, no possible way for Oswald to ascertain a suitable place to begin. Bookmarks aren’t necessary to someone like Ed, not when he can recall the _exact_ page, line and word he left off at at a moment's notice. Opening his mouth to relay that information, Ed snaps his jaw shut, clicking his teeth together, and opts for something simpler. “ _Right_ here,” he says as he points to the specific word, before pecking a kiss on Oswald’s lips, “but, could you—could you start at the beginning of the passage?” 

“Of course.”

Ed settles back down and drapes his arm across Oswald’s waist. Between the soothing sounds of Oswald’s voice, and the steady beat of his heart, Ed finds himself paying very little attention to the story. The lines all blend together, weaving in and out of Ed’s mind, flowing like an unobstructed river…and Ed lets them. For once, he doesn’t try to understand the meaning behind and between the words, preferring to take solace, and be present in the moment.

Ed yawns again, weariness overtaking him, and nuzzles his cheek into Oswald’s chest. Sleep may be a hindrance, detriment to all his endeavours, but spending time with Oswald is not.

**Author's Note:**

> Oswald isn't wrong, Ed can be a brat. Thankfully he knows how to take care of him.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
